


Paradox

by rebooting



Category: Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice
Genre: Abduction, Alpha Batman, Alpha Clark Kent, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Omega Bruce Wayne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 02:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10800099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebooting/pseuds/rebooting
Summary: Bruce Wayne is an omega. The Gotham Bat is an alpha. The tabloids love to gossip about how Bruce Wayne and the Gotham Bat must be seeing each other, since the Bat goes out of commission whenever Bruce goes into heat. And things get very complicated when some enemies of the Bat decide to abduct his little socialite omega to use as leverage.





	Paradox

**Author's Note:**

> Content warnings: some sexual menacing, but no sexual assault. Condescension out the wazoo from the bad guys. Knotting, heat, rut, all that fun stuff.

Bruce and Alfred had never been able to explain Bruce's _quirk_ to Bruce's satisfaction. He'd gone through a perfectly normal adolescence, and the only survivor of the Wayne family turning out to be an omega hadn't come as a surprise to anyone - Thomas had been an omega, Martha a beta, and while most people agreed these days that genetics didn't play much of a part in the dynamic that presented, it probably would have been more of a surprise if Bruce _hadn't_ turned out to be an omega. Alfred's sturdy alpha presence had protected him during his adolescence without feeling like a threat, Alfred had ensured that Bruce got all the education about his dynamic that he needed, and that should have been it.

Becoming the Gotham Bat had changed things. It shouldn't have been possible to - changing your dynamic just wasn't _possible_ , even if there were things that could be done to temper the extremes of omega and alpha - but all the same, when Bruce left the lake house shrouded in the suit, it wasn't an omega who walked Gotham's streets to fight the people that the police couldn't, or wouldn't, deal with. However it happened, Bruce Wayne was an omega; the Gotham Bat was an alpha.

After a while, Bruce stopped worrying about _how_ it happened and embraced it as another layer that kept people from guessing who was behind the Gotham Bat. Bruce Wayne was the stereotype that other omegas complained about, the flirt who batted his eyelashes at every alpha at the parties he went to but didn't have the decency to _commit_ to anyone - and featured in the tabloids every time they needed a lascivious story, questioning how Bruce Wayne _really_ spent his heats. Never mind that he spent them alone - no alpha in rut would look at the marks on his body and _not_ take it badly. Treating an omega in such a fashion as to make those sort of marks was supposed to be intolerable, and while most people could rise above - or sink below - their instincts most of the time, rut and heat tended to be when instinct reigned.

Tabloids or not, nobody would look at Bruce Wayne and think he was the Bat. Biology, and its odd quirk, had made for the perfect disguise.

It did make things more difficult at times, though. Most people only had to work through one stage of puberty, coming to terms with their dynamic and how it worked for them; Bruce essentially had to deal with two, the alpha aspect coming much later than the omega one had. It had been a dicey couple of years, and he and Alfred had had more than a few scares before they figured the ins and outs of how his combined dynamic worked. He didn't get hit with the double whammy of omega heat _and_ alpha rut, at least, probably because he only presented as alpha when he was the Bat, but he learned, quite early on, that when he was in heat, the Bat had to take a few days off. Going from omega heat to the Bat meant ricocheting into alpha rut, and Bruce preferred to avoid that as much as possible.

Sociologists and anthropologists had argued for years about why dynamics had begun presenting in the first place. There were plenty of theories about omegas being a calming influence on early tribal man, lessening infighting and promoting protective instincts; there were, likewise, plenty of theories about alphas being protectors. Nobody had worked out the necessity for the heats or the ruts, either, but Bruce wasn't particularly interested in arguing theory. He had other things to worry about.

Clark and Diana figured it out, Diana sooner than Clark - in Clark's defence, Diana had a lot more time with Bruce during the period when they thought Clark was dead. She didn't bring it up for a long time, and when she finally did, it was curiosity, not disgust, that coloured her tone; that helped. Bruce shrugged and explained that it wasn't something he did on purpose, but it worked to his advantage, didn't it? With both the _Gotham Gazette_ and _Gotham After Dark_ printing near-routine rumours that Bruce Wayne's mysterious alpha paramour that he _obviously_ spent his heats with _must_ be the very overtly alpha Gotham Bat, since the Bat went out of business when Bruce disappeared from society events for a week, who was going to guess that they were actually the same person?

Diana had seemed amused by that, and she didn't offer to help Bruce through his heats, which he appreciated. He knew that they were a fact of biology, nothing more, but that didn't mean he liked being beholden to his body's whims on a regular basis. He and Diana had settled into a comfortable working relationship and something that Bruce was tentatively calling friendship; he didn't want to muddy that up with the complication that cycles almost _always_ added to a relationship, even if the alpha and omega involved promised that it wouldn't get complicated.

When Clark returned, he moved into their working relationship with an ease that Bruce almost envied. It was typical of alphas to move through the world as though they owned it, even the best sort of alphas; maybe that was something to do with why the Bat was an alpha where Bruce wasn't. His world had been torn apart before he was a teenager. Nobody had done research into whether childhood trauma affected dynamic, and Bruce wasn't about to suggest that they do. It would mean facing up to too many things he'd buried a long time ago.

So Clark had moved into their working relationship easily, sparring with Diana to provide her a stronger partner, although not as crafty a sparring partner as Bruce was able to be, bringing his investigative acumen to bear when they decided to clean up the trailing remnants of Luthor's sprawling underground empire. He was easy to work with, but Bruce couldn't help seeing the tiny, concerned furrow between his brows that appeared every time Bruce told Clark and Diana that he was going to be out for a few days, or when he came back from a brief sabbatical.

Diana understood Bruce's need to be alone when his body proved itself unreliable. Clark _worried_ , because of course he did. The saviour of the world, still wanting to save everyone around him. It was a nice sentiment, but there wasn't anything he could do. Bruce had decided a long time ago that the best way to get through his heat was to deny it.

Bruce _had_ been amused at the tabloids proclaiming him to be the Gotham Bat's secret lover. When people started taking it seriously - when _his enemies_ started taking it seriously - it became suddenly less amusing.

Most people didn't see omegas as inherently weak, not anymore. But an omega who had a single alpha seeing them through their heats, who presumably saw said alpha through their rut - especially if they synched up, the way most pairings tended to after the first few times - that omega was a _weakness_. Perhaps not weak in and of himself, but a chink in the alpha's armour. And an alpha like the Gotham Bat made a lot of enemies who would be looking for a chink in his armour.

He'd taken his leave of Clark and Diana a few hours before, when he'd started to feel the tingle in his skin and elevated temperature that were the first signs that his heat was approaching. Returning to the lake house, he'd stopped briefly to check in with Alfred and appraise him of the situation before heading up to his bedroom, stripping off his shirt and dropping it on the chair near the window. This early, his usual modus operandi was to just sleep off the discomfort of the fever, and this time had been no exception. He took the time to have a cool shower, to try to bring down the heat in his skin, and dragged on a pair of soft pyjama pants that he should be able to tolerate for the first few days, collapsing in the bed and falling asleep almost immediately.

One of the reason he hated his heats was that they altered his perceptions, made it more difficult to be aware of what was going on around him. When he was awakened by the sound of movement in his bedroom, it took a moment for his brain to connect an intrusion with danger - Alfred always announced his presence from the door, and this movement was further into the room - and that moment was all the intruders needed. An arm came down across his chest; hands pinned his legs, and a wad of sickly-sweet cloth was shoved over his mouth and nose.

Most of his enemies would be going for a death blow, not abduction, Bruce thought as he fought the chloroform. The care they were taking - the hands on him were firm but no rougher than they had to be to keep him pinned long enough for the drugs to take hold - indicated that they thought they were dealing with Bruce Wayne, not the Bat. That meant they'd underestimate him.

It couldn't have happened at a worse time, though, and he spent another moment cursing the vagaries of biology before the chloroform took him.

He woke in a chair. Not the wooden chair that he'd expected to wake tied to; no, he woke in a deep, plush armchair, with his arms bound behind him in padded leather bracers that bound each wrist to the opposite elbow, the bindings secure but placed well enough to prevent circulation trouble. His ankles were tied to the legs of the armchair; those bindings were padded, too, soft against his bare skin, and Bruce figured it was lambskin.

He let out a soft growl, unconsciously. Gentle treatment meant they thought he was _weak_.

Unfortunately, right now, they weren't one hundred per cent wrong. He'd been unconscious for a few hours, he figured; long enough that warmth had settled into his limbs and the tingle in his skin had turned to a heightened sensitivity to touch that made even the soft bindings almost unbearable. His heats came on slow, at least; he hadn't reached the point of insensate desire yet, when he was good for nothing but taking a handful of sedatives and letting his body have its way in his dreams, if not while he was awake. Alfred had tried to talk him into artificial means of going through heats, a few times, but Bruce had always refused. He wasn't sentimental about sex, but he had no desire to let his body dictate when and how he had it.

His captors had fitted a blindfold over his eyes, soft and padded at the edges to keep any light from filtering in, and that was a good sign - or it would have been a good sign, if Bruce had been the playboy he masqueraded as. If they didn't want him to see their faces, then they intended for him to survive.

On the other hand, if they intended for him to survive, that meant he was there either for ransom or as bait, and he wasn't sure which one pissed him off more.

"There we are." The stranger who approached smelled like an alpha, and that set Bruce on edge. He heard the drag of a chair being brought closer, and the stranger sat down. "Don't you go worrying too much, Bruce. I've given my boys strict instructions that they're not to hurt you, and if your Bat comes through, you'll be back home before you know it. We can be nice and civilised."

" _My_ Bat?" Bruce couldn't help the incredulous tone that slipped into his voice. "Do you believe the story about Superman having a secret identity as a racy novel writer, too?"

The stranger laughed and reached out to pat Bruce's cheek. "We can read patterns as well as any paparazzo," he said, his voice sounding almost fond. Bruce ground his teeth, forcing himself not to lean into the touch that felt blessedly cool against his heated skin. If he was lucky, the stranger wouldn't be able to detect that he was in heat this early. Oblivious to Bruce's internal struggles, the stranger added, "And you two aren't good at hiding how your schedules synch up. Every time _you_ drop out of society for a week or so, _he_ stops giving us a hard time. It's not hard to connect the dots."

At least they'd connected the wrong dots, Bruce told himself. Even if their timing couldn't have been worse.

"What did you do to my butler?" he asked, ignoring the question. The stranger laughed, patting his cheek again, and Bruce bit back a curse. One of _those_ alphas, it looked like. The ones who treated omegas like clever, endearing children to be protected and cosseted - or punished, when they did something the alpha didn't like.

"He'll be fine. Back to the point, little omega. Your heats aren't regular enough that he'd just drop by," the stranger said easily, talking about something so _personal_ with an intimacy that made it obvious he'd been watching Bruce for a long time, if from a distance that Bruce hadn't been aware of the surveillance. He added, "So you've got a way of letting him know. All we want you to do is get in touch with him so we can let him know his omega needs his help again."

Bruce was silent, turning his options over in his head. One thing was clear; he couldn't tell them that they already had the Bat in their grasp. Enough people knew his identity, and even though he trusted Diana and Clark, that was two more people than he was used to trusting.

"I don't think so," he said eventually. "You can see how luring him into a trap might put a crimp on our relationship."

The stranger laughed again and gave Bruce's cheek another light pat and said, "We'll see how you feel in a little while. You're not going anywhere, Bruce, so I'd get comfortable and give your options a nice, long consideration."

And he was left alone, for long enough that he could feel heat starting to pool low in his stomach, signalling the onset of his heat proper. This was more than just sensitised skin and enhanced senses and the heightened temperature that made clothing a torment; this was the beginnings of a lust that made being around other people almost impossible to bear. Most omegas sequestered themselves during this stage of their heat for their own comfort - Bruce wasn't alone in that, although he was unusual in not having an alpha with him to ease him through it - and to avoid setting off any alphas who were too close to their own rut. It was a dangerous stage to be in while he was already vulnerable.

He couldn't let that change anything.

The bindings were too secure to get loose from. He spent a while trying, but while he managed to get one of his ankles free, scraping the skin off against the leg of the chair, the arm bindings were too intricately-made to slip free. He let out a frustrated growl as he slumped back against the soft back of the armchair, going over his options. It was increasingly more difficult to think, though, as the sensations of the leather and lambskin and the warmth curling through him combined to make his mind muzzy, concentration wafting like fog.

He stiffened when he heard the door open again, voices drifting in, the loud, raucous sounds somehow familiar. He knew this gang - he knew the stranger who was no stranger, but he couldn't put the voice to the face, not when he was having trouble thinking about anything but how hot his skin felt, how much he felt like he needed to be out of his pyjama pants, the soft, smooth-woven fabric feeling rough as hemp against his skin.

The not-a-stranger paused at the door; Bruce heard a deep inhalation, and then the door quickly clicked closed. Footsteps sounded, soft on carpet, and then a hand was on his face again, cool against the torment of his heated skin. This time he couldn't help leaning into it, unconsciously seeking some relief from the heat.

The stranger whistled. "Well, I'll be damned," he said softly. "Look at you. Didn't realise we'd snatched you right on the cusp of it."

"Don't touch me," Bruce growled, even as his body yearned for more contact than just the hand. His breath was already coming a little faster than normal, and he knew that if he wasn't blindfolded, his pupils would be dilated, dark with need.

"Shh," the stranger said, moving his hand from Bruce's face to curve down around his neck, stroking lightly over his pulse. "I'll keep the others away from you, don't worry. They're mostly betas, but that wouldn't stop them if they got an eyeful of a pretty little omega like you. Don't you worry about that, though. I'll take care of you."

_Definitely_ one of the alphas who thought of omegas as pets to be looked after, Bruce realised. Alpha personalities became more exaggerated when they were in rut or were around an omega in heat; the protectiveness was amplified, but in men like this one, so was the tendency to want to _control_.

" _Don't touch me_ ," he repeated, forcing his tone to stay as firm and even as he could, a demand rather than a plea. The stranger laughed, tracing his fingertips over the pulse in Bruce's throat, and Bruce couldn't keep back a tiny whimper. There were things that almost every omega craved during heat, and touches where their heart beat close to the skin were maddeningly good.

"If you're not going to tell me how to call your Bat, I'm going to have to find a way to convince you," the stranger said, his tone oh-so-reasonable. "And I _did_ say to get comfortable. I'd be remiss as a host if I didn't help out with that, wouldn't I?"

He wouldn't be any use if this went on too long. Alfred would know what to do. Bruce clung to that knowledge, and the justification that this situation had to be resolved sooner rather than later, and gasped, "I'll tell you how to contact him."

The stranger made a quiet, disappointed sound, and kissed Bruce's forehead, saying, "Not as friendly as you pretend to be, are you? Or is he possessive? Well, we can revisit when I'm finished with him. Tell me how to get him here."

Bruce gave him the phone number that would reach the "my cover may have been compromised, fix it" line. If he'd been telling the truth earlier and Alfred was all right, Alfred would know what to do. If Alfred _wasn't_ fine, Bruce would kill them when he got out of the bindings. It was as simple as that. And he'd told Diana and Clark about that line months ago. They'd figure it out.

The stranger ran a possessive, absurdly gentle hand through his hair and murmured, "I'll be back, sweetheart."

Bruce welcomed the click of the door locking as the stranger left. He was used to spending his heats alone; that was nothing new. He hated putting Alfred, Clark, and Diana in the position that his capitulation had put them in, but he knew this sort of alpha - he knew that the moment he let the alpha touch him with intent, things would go further than even Bruce was capable of handling. He'd never let anyone stay with him through a heat, much less knot him - he wasn't going to start with a criminal who would stoop to using someone as bait to weaken his enemy.

 

 

Clark had received the phone call from Alfred four hours after Bruce had been taken, and that was four hours too late. He didn't blame Alfred for that; the older man had been overwhelmed by too many opponents, and it was a miracle they'd been alerted as soon as they had. Diana had insisted on getting Alfred checked out - unconsciousness after a head wound was dangerous, she'd pointed out - and Clark had combed the lake house for clues.

The smell of chloroform in Bruce's bedroom puzzled him for a moment - he couldn't fathom why Bruce had been taken unawares, even while he'd been sleeping - until the scent beneath it caught his attention and he remembered that Bruce had told them that he wouldn't be available for a few days. If Bruce had been in the early stages of his heat, he might have been easier to sneak up on.

There was no _might_ about it, as Clark examined the scene of the crime. Several people had entered the lake house, attacked Alfred, come into Bruce's bedroom and drugged him, then taken him from the grounds in what was probably a van, by the tire tracks.

By the time Clark had finished going over the house and grounds, Diana and Alfred had returned from the doctor Diana had taken Alfred to, and they all agreed that whoever had taken Bruce, they'd taken _Bruce_ , not the Bat. And that, to Clark's chagrin, meant they had to wait until they heard from his captors, because someone targeting Bruce as a socialite could be just about _anyone_. Going over the enemies Bruce had made as the Bat wouldn't get them anywhere.

When the telephone rang, Clark went to answer it, but Alfred stopped him with a look and said, "That's the line Bruce uses when his cover is shaky. Let me."

He did _something_ to his voice when he answered, sounding like a completely different person - sounding like a fair imitation of the Bat, now that Clark thought about it - as he picked up the handset and growled, "What?"

Clark cheated. He listened in, and felt himself growling as he heard the man on the other end of the line say, "This had better be the Bat's line, or I've got a lying little omega who needs to be taught a lesson."

There was a pause, and then Alfred said, his tone icy, " _What_?"

The man on the other end sounded like he was smiling. "I thought that might get your attention. He's safe for now, but he's going to be panting for it soon. I'd suggest you get here before that happens, Bat, or I might decide to give him a helping hand."

Clark saw red. Diana reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, keeping him there rather than shooting out the window to a location he didn't even _know_ yet, and he forced himself to take in deep, even breaths, imprinting the sound of Bruce's captor's voice on his brain so that he'd know him when they next met. He didn't intend to let him get away with laying his hands on Bruce without consent - and given how private Bruce was about his heats, consent certainly hadn't been given.

The bastard gave an address and a time limit. Well, the time limit wasn't going to be a problem.

"I'm going after him," Clark said, as soon as Alfred hung up. "I can get there faster and they can't stop me getting him out."

"I'm going with you," Diana said firmly. A part of Clark wanted to see it as another alpha challenging his claim, but he knew it was a smart idea. Having Diana there to watch his back would help keep anything from going wrong.

"Can you control yourselves?" Alfred asked bluntly. Clark stared at him, and he said, his tone unapologetic, "You're alphas, planning to go into a situation where an omega in heat is also in distress. Can you control yourselves enough to bring him back here, or will I need to give you shock collars?"

Diana laughed and said, "I appreciate the warning, Alfred. I'll be all right. I've had a lot of time to get used to my instincts."

Well. Clark grumbled, "I'll be fine."

He _would_ be fine. _He_ wasn't going to hurt Bruce.

Alfred seemed satisfied with their assurances, and Clark lifted Diana into a comfortable carry and flew them into one of the nicer parts of Gotham, where Alfred had been told the Bat was to go to meet his death.

"Eight people inside," Clark reported, hovering above the house and listening to the heartbeats. It was a freestanding house, surrounded by a small but attractive bit of land; upper-middle class, the sort of place that the more influential drug smugglers ran out of. He focused his hearing and added, "Bruce is in the master bedroom. Second floor, in the back, overlooking the swimming pool. Four of the others are in the front downstairs room; two are in one of the upstairs back rooms, it sounds like they're asleep. The last is in one of the upstairs front rooms. Who do you want?"

"I don't think I should stand between you and Bruce," Diana said lightly. Clark felt a little flush of embarrassment that he'd been that _obvious_ , but he couldn't argue. "Drop me off downstairs and go get him back home."

"You'll be okay?"

She snorted. "Please. By the time the ones upstairs realise I'm there and get downstairs, I'll be done with round one and be ready for round two. Take care of Bruce; I'll meet you back at the lake house when I'm done."

Clark dropped them down into the backyard and burned the lock off the back door. As Diana unsheathed her sword and slipped inside, Clark rose back up and burned the lock off the window, careful to keep his heat vision from extending further than the metal he was melting. As soon as it dripped free, he slid the window open and climbed inside.

The scent of omega in heat - of _Bruce_ in heat - hit him like a steamroller. Clark stopped at the window, half-in and half-out, drawing in deep breaths as he tried to adjust to the scent. It was normally easy to be around Bruce; he was aware that the other man was an omega, but it only became more than peripheral awareness in the day or so before Bruce told Clark and Diana that he was leaving for a few days. Clark was confused about how Bruce could be an omega when he presented so strongly alpha as the Bat, but Bruce seemed as lost as to how that worked as Clark was, so he'd dismissed it as yet another way Bruce was strange. Normally, Bruce's dynamic wasn't something Clark considered much.

Right now, with the scent of needy omega washing over him, it was impossible _not_ to consider it.

Clark didn't think of omegas as weak. He'd known too many strong, successful omegas to fall prey to that sort of outdated thinking. But he'd been raised to protect vulnerable people, and even progressive people acknowledged that omegas were vulnerable during their heats. That protective urge flared up as the sound of a soft whimper drifted toward him, and he moved away from the window, crossing the carpeted floor to kneel beside the armchair Bruce was bound in, reaching to gently feel for the fastenings of the blindfold.

Bruce let out a low keening sound and leaned into Clark's hands. His skin was hot enough that it felt like it should burn, and Clark made a sympathetic sound, murmuring, "It's okay, Bruce, it's me. It's going to be okay."

"Superman?" Bruce's voice was raspy and dry, and even caught in the grip of heat he remembered not to use Clark's real name. Clark stroked a hand through Bruce's hair as he found the blindfold fastenings and carefully undid them, pulling the blindfold away from Bruce's face and using it to wipe away the sweat beading on Bruce's forehead.

Bruce blinked up at him, wincing from the pain of the admittedly-dim light. If he'd been blindfolded since he woke up, his eyes would be sensitive, Clark realised. He stroked Bruce's hair again and said gently, "Relax. Lean forward and let me get your arms, okay?"

Bruce didn't seem entirely able to control his movements. He kept listing towards Clark, as though he was seeking out Clark's body heat, although the heat coming off him was enough that it made Clark wince at how it must be making Bruce feel. He made as quick work of the arm bindings as he could, thankful that at least Bruce's captors had decided to treat him gently enough that the bindings hadn't left marks. He made another sympathetic sound when he saw how Bruce had scraped his ankle getting free of the ankle binding, and quickly untied the other one.

"Diana's taking care of things here," he murmured, reaching up to cup Bruce's face gently, trying to ignore the rush he got from Bruce leaning into his head. "Let's get you home."

"Not so fast."

Clark acted on instinct. The man at the door was the one who'd spoken to Alfred on the phone, and he had Bruce's scent on his hands. Clark pulled his punch just enough to not _kill_ the man, because Bruce would want to know who they were later, but if Diana's concern over Alfred's head wound had been any indication, the bastard would be needing a doctor.

Clark couldn't find himself caring about that.

He turned back to Bruce, holding out his hands and saying, "Let me help you home."

Bruce was so intensely private, about his life in general and about his heats in particular. Clark couldn't push him for contact. It took a few minutes, and Clark wasn't sure how much of that was Bruce trying to gather the shreds of his focus, but Bruce accepted Clark's hands, standing up with difficulty, and Clark wrapped his arms around Bruce and took them away from the house. Diana would make her own way home.

He expected to be turned away as soon as he got back to the lake house. Alfred was still not at his best, though, and clearly needed assistance getting Bruce up to his bedroom; Clark offered to help, and, after a hesitation and a look at Bruce, who gave a tired nod, Alfred agreed. Between them, they got Bruce upstairs and onto the bed, and then Clark gave him a gentle smile and straightened up, preparing to leave, as much as his instincts were screaming that he couldn't leave an omega in this condition.

"Wait."

Bruce's voice was thin and exhausted, and Clark turned back like it was a magnet and he was iron. Bruce wasn't quite sitting up in the bed. His skin was flushed, his eyes dark with need, and Clark could hear his heart thundering. Everything about his physical language said that he _needed_ Clark.

Which was ridiculous. Bruce spent his heats alone. Clark knew that. He'd never even asked Diana to help him through them, and Clark knew there was an attraction there. Whether the attraction between _Clark_ and Bruce was more than one-sided or not, it didn't change facts.

"Stay."

Clark blinked. He hesitated, and then bit the bullet and said gently, "You don't mean that."

"The Bat needs to talk to them, and sooner than I'll be done on my own." Bruce bit back a soft whine, shifting on the bed. "I'll finish sooner if I've got you, or at least I'll have a period of enough lucidity."

So it was a transaction. Clark wasn't sure what it said about him that he was considering it, transaction or not. Still, he wasn't sure it would be right, and he was still hesitating, when Bruce said the thing that changed his mind.

" _Please_ , Clark."

When he was asked like that, by someone he'd come to respect and care about like Bruce, how could he say no? Transactional or not, it was something Bruce needed, and Clark's instincts were telling him that leaving an omega without helping him with what he needed would be reprehensible.

He saw Alfred looking at Bruce; Bruce's gaze slipped past Clark to fix on the older man, and he gave a light nod. That seemed to be enough for Alfred, who excused himself quietly and shut the door behind him.

And shut in the room with Bruce looking at him the way Clark had started imagining, the third or fourth time Bruce had left Clark and Diana to spend his heat tormented and alone, it became impossible to resist.

Clark sat down on the edge of the bed, reaching out to rub his hand lightly down Bruce's arm. Bruce let out a sigh that was equal parts relief and something else, something that made the protective part of Clark want to make sure he never had cause to make that sort of sound again, and leaned into Clark's touch.

He wasn't going to be some selfish alpha who took advantage of an omega's need to just take his own relief without concern for what the omega might want. Bruce deserved better than that.

He leaned down to kiss Bruce gently, murmuring, "Relax. I'll take care of you."

 

 

Why had he been afraid of this?

Bruce had had sex before, of course. It was part of his playboy persona, and he enjoyed it. But he'd never been with an alpha in rut, and he'd never invited anyone to join him during his heat. _That_ would have required a particular level of trust, and until very recently, there hadn't been any alphas that Bruce had trusted that much. Diana and Clark had both become the only members of that select group, but he'd still avoided asking either of them to see him through a heat because he'd been afraid it would change their relationship, when he was happy with working with them the way they were.

Tonight, though, he could _smell_ how much Clark wanted him. He'd smelled lust on other alphas before, alphas who had offered to help him through his next heat and had thought they'd be getting harmless socialite Bruce Wayne in bed, but this was different. Clark knew what he was getting into when he got into bed with Bruce. There was no pretence, and there was no risk that Clark's instinctive alpha protectiveness would turn the wrong way when he saw the marks of Bruce's long career on his body. He _knew_ what Bruce was, and until tonight, Bruce had never realised how much attraction he held for the Kryptonian.

He got the sense that any other time, Clark would have started out slow, but there was Bruce's need to take into account. Clark helped Bruce out of the pyjama pants, lifting his hips with an ease that sent little electric thrills running through Bruce's already-overstimulated body. Even the most independent omega felt the desire to be looked after during their heat, and Clark's strength felt reassuring.

"Relax," Clark murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Bruce's hip. "Can you spread for me?"

Bruce shifted his legs apart, and Clark settled between his knees. He steeled himself for Clark's entering thrust, and let out a yelp when, instead, he felt Clark's tongue drag down the curve of his ass. Clark petted his thigh lightly, reassuring, and nudged Bruce's legs a little further apart so that he could work his tongue against Bruce's entrance.

None of the sex Bruce had had before had been _bad_ , but this was something different. Clark licked him open like it was an act of worship, one hand curled around Bruce's calf to keep him anchored. Bruce twisted his hands in the sheets, forcing himself to keep still, to _not_ rock back as Clark delved deeper, working the tight muscle with his tongue until Bruce was relaxed enough to take a finger. Heats _should_ make it easier, Bruce knew, but he'd never been able to do things the easy way, and it seemed like Clark knew that - and like he was enjoying himself working through it.

Once Bruce was relaxed enough that Clark could use his fingers, eased by the natural lubricant that omegas produced during their heat, Clark moved to lie beside Bruce, working three fingers into him and stroking them gently over his prostate. Bruce bit back a whimper, and over the rush of his blood in his ears he heard Clark let out a quiet moan and murmur, "Jeez, Bruce, where do you get off sounding like that?"

He couldn't help it; a gasped little laugh escaped, one that turned into another whimper as Clark stroked his prostate again, and he said, "Only you would say _jeez_ during sex, Clark."

Clark kissed his shoulder, biting lightly enough that Bruce could tell there wouldn't be a mark in the morning, light enough that it must be a torment to _not_ bite harder, with his alpha instincts telling him to mark. He rubbed his fingers over Bruce's prostate a third time, stretching him further, and said, "I have _manners_."

"Says the alpha up to his knuckles in my ass," Bruce muttered, biting back a moan. He wasn't used to feeling like _this_. Every time Clark's fingers moved, sensation rushed through him, and the ache of _need_ that he was used to had intensified, demanding to be satisfied. Different omegas responded to the need in different ways, craving different things; Bruce had always been aware of a growing desire to get fucked, whatever his tastes in bed outside of heat were - and while he certainly didn't _mind_ bottoming when he slept with other men, it wasn't an all-consuming _need_ the way it became when he was in heat.

He'd always shoved that need away, before now, submerging it beneath sedatives for the duration. Now, with Clark working him open with nothing more than the lubricant he was producing, he couldn't remember how he'd had the strength to do that, because he sure as hell didn't now.

"Bruce." Clark kissed his shoulder again, stilling his fingers for a moment so that Bruce could give Clark his attention. "I know you haven't had an alpha with you in heat before, but have you had anal sex before?"

Bruce let out another shaky laugh. "I'm not a virgin, Clark. I know how it works."

Clark hesitated for a moment, brushing his lips so lightly over Bruce's skin that they were barely touching. Bruce's skin felt so inflamed that the lightness of the touch still sent pleasure searing through him. After that hesitation, Clark asked, "Do you want me to pull out before I knot you?"

It was a good question. Knotting wasn't _essential_ to get an omega through their heat. As Bruce had proved to himself time after time, it was entirely possible, if not entirely pleasant, to go through heat without sex at all. Alphas didn't knot every time they had sex, but something about omega heat brought out the response in them.

Conventional wisdom said that the heat would end sooner if he let Clark knot him. That wasn't why Bruce shook his head, though, saying, "No, don't pull out. I want you to knot me."

Clark groaned against his shoulder. " _Bruce_. You can't say stuff like that."

Bruce rocked his hips experimentally, back against Clark's fingers, and mused, "Will saying shit like that get you fucking me faster?"

Clark groaned again, and withdrew his fingers. This was the point of no return, and Bruce wasn't as anxious about it as he'd thought he might be. It helped that it was still early enough that he wasn't incoherent; things felt _good_ , and the need was building, but it wasn't obliterating rational thought the way it would be in a couple of days, when his heat was at its height. This was his choice. He moved as Clark pulled away, getting onto his hands and knees. Even _he_ knew that that would make it easier for them both the first time.

Clark draped himself over Bruce's back, pressing light little kisses along his spine as he pressed in slowly. Bruce let out a soft moan as Clark stilled, seated to the hilt, and reached around to wrap his fingers around Bruce's cock. He didn't stroke yet, just like he didn't move yet; it felt as though he wanted to hold onto this moment for just an instant, and Bruce didn't have the heart to protest. In a way, it made him feel protected and wanted, and while that wasn't something he often needed to feel, it was a reassuring sensation right now.

And then Clark started to move, and Bruce became aware of how _large_ he was. He hadn't noticed as Clark had entered, some side effect of the heat and his own need, but he definitely noticed _now_. He was sensitised enough that the stretch wasn't enough to be painful - at least, not painful enough to override the pleasure searing through him - and every thrust rubbed Clark's cock over Bruce's prostate, sending little sparks through his nerves. Clark kept one arm around Bruce's chest to help him stay up, his strength a reassuring reminder, and began stroking his cock in an absurdly gentle counterpoint to how fast he was thrusting.

Everything felt too good. Bruce was aware of letting out a choked moan as he came, and he felt Clark groaning against his shoulder, although Clark's movement didn't falter. Bruce hadn't really expected it to be that quick; while he didn't have any personal experience of heat with someone else, everything he'd researched said that an omega could expect to orgasm several times before the heat subsided, and that an alpha who was being spurred on by an omega's heat, even if not in rut themselves, would have heightened stamina. Clark certainly didn't seem like he was close to the edge yet.

"Let go," Clark murmured against Bruce's shoulder, setting his teeth into the skin just long enough to leave dents that would smooth out by the time morning came. "Let me take care of you."

Clark wasn't the sort of man that most people looked at and thought _alpha_ , because they were fooled by the quiet demeanour and gentle voice. Most people were stupid. Clark's core of protectiveness screamed out at the world, or it should have, Bruce thought, the weight of Clark's body along his back making him feel comfortable and secure while the _rest_ of the way Clark was touching him kept him in a state of heightened sensitivity. He whimpered as Clark palmed the head of his cock, already hardening again, and rocked his hips back to meet Clark's thrusts, trying to participate as much as his body, trembling with need, would let him.

"Let me take care of you," Clark repeated, finding the pulse point in Bruce's throat and biting it lightly, earning another whimper. "It's my privilege as alpha, Bruce. Let me take care of you."

Bruce couldn't help letting out another little laugh, letting himself go still. Clark was a _romantic_. They'd been working together long enough that Bruce knew Clark didn't think omegas needed taking care of in general, but heats were a different matter - even the most independent omega was vulnerable then. Hadn't today just proven that? If it had been anyone else, Bruce might have been insulted, but there was a genuineness about Clark that made the request kind of _sweet_.

Clark made a soft, pleased sound when Bruce went still, and kissed over Bruce's pulse again. Pressing his tongue against the spot where the blood rushed closest to the surface, he murmured, "Do you want me to bite?"

_Yes_. Bruce hadn't realised until now how much he craved the possessive bite that Clark was offering. It wasn't about weakness, when it came from Clark; it wasn't about proving who was stronger, who was in control, the way it had been with other alphas who had wanted to bite him. Bruce and Clark knew each other's strengths too well for that. If Clark was offering the bite, it was because he knew Bruce could take it. He nodded breathlessly, tilting his head so that Clark could get at the pulse point better from his vantage point, draped over Bruce's back.

Clark didn't bite right away. He waited until Bruce was trembling on the edge again, his nerves on fire, and then he set his teeth to Bruce's pulse, hard enough that it sent a bright spark of pain as a counterpoint to the pleasure coursing through him. The pain was what did it this time, the second orgasm racing through him like a current, and this time, when Clark groaned against his throat, Bruce could feel him coming inside him.

Clark seemed about to pull out, but Bruce reached back with one hand, however unsteady that made him, grasping Clark's wrist, and gasped, "You _promised_."

Seemingly reassured that Bruce hadn't changed his mind, Clark kissed the bite mark he'd just left and kept one arm looped around Bruce's waist to keep him on his hands and knees long enough to tug the soiled upper sheet out of the way; that done, he gently urged Bruce down onto the bed, turning them both onto their sides as the knot at the base of his cock began to swell.

Bruce had never let anyone knot him before, and it was an alien sensation - the unintended pun made him snort softly as Clark settled them - but it wasn't an _unpleasant_ one. Far from it. Clark wasn't hard, precisely, but as he stroked Bruce's chest lightly with one hand, rocking his hips gently to let his cock rub over Bruce's prostate, there was still plenty of stimulation, and Bruce could feel himself getting hard again.

"You've got a couple more in you before you're ready to get some rest," Clark said, kissing Bruce's shoulder and rocking his hips again. The knot prevented him from pulling out, but the gentle rocking provided enough stimulation to make Bruce shiver with pleasure. Clark nuzzled at Bruce's throat, inhaling right where he'd bitten, and Bruce could feel him getting hard again, seemingly just from the knowledge that Bruce had allowed Clark to bite him.

Clark seemed to have a better idea of how much Bruce needed right now than Bruce did. That made a certain amount of sense; Bruce had spent his entire life denying his heats, while Clark had probably had sex with omegas before. And it certainly _felt_ like he could go for another couple of rounds before his body let him sleep. He let out a soft sound of assent, rocking his hips back against Clark's to encourage him.

Clark groaned against Bruce's throat, murmuring, "God, the way you feel is criminal, Bruce," and reached down to start stroking his cock, still kissing the sore spot on Bruce's throat where he'd bitten down. The third orgasm came quickly, and Clark kept stroking Bruce through it, now completely hard again inside him.

"Can you get onto your stomach?" Clark asked, helping Bruce to turn. He didn't try to get Bruce up onto his hands and knees this time, apparently realising that by now, Bruce's arms and legs were trembling badly enough that they weren't going to hold him up. He wrapped an arm around Bruce's hips, tugging him back against Clark's hips, and began moving inside him again. The knot still kept him from withdrawing, so he couldn't thrust in the long, fast thrusts that had driven Bruce crazy before, but he was still seated deep inside him, and as shallow as his thrusts were, they still rubbed across Bruce's prostate every time.

Bruce let out an unsteady, thready cry as he came for the fourth time, and this time some of the heat swirling within him seemed to abate, although he could tell that it was only banked, not gone for good yet. Clark thrust a few more times before he, too, came and the knot began to subside. He pulled out carefully, pressing one last kiss to Bruce's throat, and said softly, "Relax. I'll get something to clean you up."

Bruce was asleep before Clark had left the room.

 

 

When Clark woke, Bruce was gone.

For a moment, his protective instincts flared, but he tamped them down and investigated. There was a damp towel in the bathroom, and a note from Bruce on the bedside table. Bruce had gone to talk to the men Diana had left tied up in the house he'd been held captive in, and expected to be back soon; he apologised to Clark for leaving without waking him, but time had been of the essence and Clark had looked like he could use the sleep.

Clark read the note with narrowed eyes. Bruce probably hadn't woken him because he'd known that there was no way Clark's alpha instincts, sharpened by the scent of an omega in heat, an omega that he'd just had sex with, would have let Bruce go off to a place he'd _just been held captive_.

It had probably been the right choice. It still rankled.

He headed downstairs, where Alfred offered him coffee and breakfast pastries. Clark accepted the coffee with a semblance of good grace and said, "I'm going to wait for him in the Cave."

"Wait."

Clark stopped, turning to look at Alfred. He could see concern in the older alpha's eyes, but what he hadn't expected was that Alfred was concerned for Bruce _and_ for Clark.

"He'll be coming back as the Bat," Alfred said quietly. "Not as Bruce. We've had situations like this, where he's been in heat but he's had to go out as the Bat for some emergency. He doesn't come back as an omega in heat; he comes back as an alpha in rut."

Clark was quiet for a moment, contemplating the ramifications of that. _He_ didn't go through ruts every often, but he was well aware of the commonalities all alphas - and the betas who swung further towards alpha - shared during their ruts. If omegas ached to be fucked during their heats, alphas ached to fuck someone. It wasn't considered an excuse for ignoring consent, and no alpha worth a damn used it as one, but it was still a heady, difficult experience.

And given Bruce's dislike of his heats, Clark couldn't help but think he'd have about as much fondness for a rut.

"Okay," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. "And if he doesn't have someone to help him take care of that, what does he do?"

Alfred sighed, and Clark saw the spark of alpha protectiveness flash through his eyes. "He usually gets it out via violence."

Self-directed violence, Clark read between the lines. He took another sip of coffee and said, "Well, that's not a good idea. I'm not going to _make_ him do anything, but I'm going to wait down there for him and see if he'll let me continue what we started last night."

"You don't have to do that," Alfred said, his protectiveness flaring again, and Clark laughed.

"Alfred, I'm not going to get into detail for both our sakes, but it wouldn't be the first time I've slept with an alpha in rut," he said, finishing his coffee. "Lois and I never synched up the way some alpha couples do, so one of us was always more lucid during the other's rut. I know how to deal with it. It'll be fine, and if it helps Bruce, I'm happy to do it."

Alfred didn't quite seem to know what to say about that. Clark stole one of the breakfast pastries and headed down to the Cave to wait.

He'd finished the pastry and cleaned his hands off when he heard the rumble of the Batmobile arriving. Tossing the washcloth aside, he left the little bathroom in the Cave and watched as the Bat left the vehicle.

He'd always been mystified by how Bruce could be an omega but the Bat could be an alpha. He was _still_ mystified by it, and he didn't think he was ever going to get an answer. Bruce and Alfred didn't seem to have any answers either, and if anyone wanted answers, it would be them. Clark didn't need to know the whys; he just knew the _whats_ of the situation, and that he could help.

Bruce gave him a long look through the cowl, and as he took a step closer to Clark, Clark felt the energy of a strong, confident alpha in rut practically roll over him. Bruce was never _not_ confident, but the confidence of an omega _felt_ different, to an alpha, than the confidence of another alpha. More than that, heat felt totally different to rut, and the difference between the man Clark had fallen asleep next to a few hours ago and the man looking at him now was palpable.

"You shouldn't be here," Bruce said flatly. "Alfred should have-"

"Alfred told me what I'd be waiting for," Clark said. "I don't know much about how this dual-dynamic of yours works, Bruce, but it can't be easy to go from heat to rut and back again. Just going from rut to back to normal is hard enough on your body. Let me help you get tired out so you can sleep through the transition."

Bruce narrowed his eyes at Clark. "Do you even know what you're getting into?"

Clark laughed, reaching up to start unbuttoning his shirt, and said, "Lois is an alpha too, Bruce."

They weren't together anymore - she'd moved on, while Clark had been, for all intents and purposes, dead, and it hadn't felt fair to try to rekindle a relationship she'd mourned and put behind her - but Clark could certainly draw on that experience now. And watching the interest flicker in Bruce's eyes, it had been a right thing to say. Bruce watched as Clark finished unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it off, letting it fall to the floor behind him, and Clark definitely recognised the heat in Bruce's eyes. It wasn't the sort of needy arousal that omegas displayed; it was unadulterated hunger, strictly leashed.

Bruce kept himself leashed too tightly, in Clark's opinion. Clark dropped his hands to his waistband and unzipped his jeans, keeping his gaze steadily fixed on Bruce.

The cowl and suit hid a lot, but Clark could see the way Bruce's mouth worked when Clark stepped out of his jeans. Clark held Bruce's gaze for a moment and then, spotting a handy-looking rail a couple of steps away, he stepped over to it, gave Bruce one last look, and turned to grasp it with both hands, presenting his back - and his ass - to Bruce.

There was the briefest moment of silence, and then Bruce growled, "God _damn_ it, Clark."

Clark glanced back over his shoulder, giving Bruce a wicked smile. "I'm _inviting_ you, Bruce."

"I'm not fucking you against a rail," Bruce said, the growl in his voice turning richer and deeper. "Get in the elevator."

Clark didn't bother retrieving his clothes. He followed Bruce into the small elevator, which deposited them just outside Bruce's bedroom.

The room still smelled like omega heat, and Clark figured that even if it was Bruce's own scent, it was probably making his rut worse. God knew it made Clark half-hard just to smell it. He risked a glance back at Bruce, who was breathing in shallow breaths through his mouth as though that would help, and nodded to himself; this far gone, either Clark helped Bruce through the rut or Bruce went and did something stupid like break his hands, and Clark knew what _he'd_ prefer.

The fact that Bruce hadn't thrown him out was encouraging. He didn't like to think he was taking advantage somehow. Alphas weren't as vulnerable as omegas when they were at the mercy of their physiology, they didn't lose as much lucidity, but it was still possible to get an alpha into a bad situation. He didn't want Bruce to think of this like that.

One advantage to being brought up to the bedroom, he realised, was that Bruce had a jar of pure aloe vera on his bureau that would be a hell of a lot more comfortable than trying to make spit work for lube.

Bruce gave him a light push on the shoulder, directing him over to the bed, evidently taking it for granted that if Clark changed his mind, he'd use his superior strength to get away. Clark had no intention of doing something stupid like _that_. He enjoyed sex with other alphas, and more to the point, even if the situation was far from ideal, it was sex with _Bruce_. He'd be an idiot to turn down something he'd been thinking about since he came back.

He clambered onto the bed, getting onto his hands and knees right away. He'd been slow about preparation and foreplay earlier that night, out of deference to Bruce's inexperience with heat sex and because he'd wanted to treat Bruce properly, but rut sex was rarely that thoughtful, and Clark didn't mind the idea of more roughness. It wasn't like Bruce was going to be able to really _hurt_ him. He heard Bruce inhale sharply behind him, and he considered what he must look like. Alphas rarely _presented_ themselves the way he was.

He grinned back over his shoulder at Bruce, letting his ass sway invitingly, and said, "Come on, Bruce. You let me fuck you, before. Let me return the favour."

That was all it took to have Bruce on him, still encased in the suit and cowl. One of the gloves hit the bed with a heavy slap, and Clark spread his legs wider when he felt Bruce's fingers brushing over his ass. The touch of leather from the suit was an interesting contrast, one he hadn't considered before, as Bruce leaned over him to say, his voice low and almost guttural with hunger and desire, "You want me to stop, Clark, you _make_ me stop. I'll take broken bones over hurting you."

The concern was touching, but unwarranted. Clark pressed back against the aloe-slick fingers that had paused at his hole while Bruce told him to _break him_ if Clark wanted him gone, like _that_ was going to happen, and Bruce let out a growled curse as his fingers sank knuckle-deep inside Clark.

It was a stretchy sort of burn, nothing like unpleasant, and it had been long enough since Clark had had anything, fingers _or_ a cock, up his ass that he'd almost forgotten how much he liked the sensation. He rocked his hips back against Bruce, hoping Bruce would get the picture and pick up the pace. If anyone was the next best thing to unbreakable, it was Clark, and he didn't need or want gentle treatment.

Bruce swore again, muttering something uncomplimentary about Clark's virtue, and obliged by letting another glob of the aloe ooze over his ass to ease the insertion of another finger, bringing him up to three, which didn't feel like _nearly_ enough. Clark had forgotten how much of a size queen he could be sometimes.

The scent of Bruce's arousal hit like a truck, and Clark drank it in. Some alphas disliked the smell of another alpha in rut, but Clark had always liked it, in a different but complementary way to the way he liked the smell of an omega in heat. Impatient, he reached beneath himself to wrap his hand around his own cock, already hard enough that the touch of his hand made him gasp, and said, "Bite if you want to, Bruce. I can take whatever you want to give me."

Want, not need. It was an important distinction, and one he figured Bruce might appreciate later. Right now, Bruce seemed to be appreciating the noises Clark made every time Bruce touched his prostate, and he spent a few minutes exploring those noises before they both got too impatient.

Rut was always hard and fast, and Bruce was no exception. He withdrew his fingers and flipped Clark onto his back, giving him one more dose of the aloe before pressing in and setting what would have been a brutal, punishing pace for anyone who _wasn't_ the Man of Steel.

It didn't _hurt_. It felt _fantastic_ , and Clark took a moment to remind himself to find out if Bruce was open to the idea of a repeat performance sometime before the sensation stole his focus. Bruce's still-gloved hand wrapped around Clark's cock, dislodging his own hand, and Clark let out a heady sigh of pleasure, saying, "Don't stop until you're done."

It wasn't that he got off on helplessness or anything like that, although some of the other alphas he'd had sex with during their rut had assumed that that was what it was. They hadn't known that they were fucking someone who could throw them off as easily as twitching his little finger. No, it wasn't that; it was letting someone powerful use his body for what they needed, both of them secure in the knowledge that whatever was done to him wouldn't hurt him. Clark liked helping people, got a rush from knowing that _he_ was fulfilling their needs.

And when it happened to include mind-blowing sex, well, who could complain about that? He sure as hell wasn't.

He _was_ startled, when Bruce came, shortly after Clark's second orgasm, to feel the tell-tale pressure of a knot starting to form in his ass. Most alphas didn't knot other alphas; it was something that omegas triggered in them, not other alphas. Maybe it was the scent of Bruce's heat still lingering in the room; maybe it was the same quirk that had Bruce experiencing both dynamics. Whatever the reason, when he felt Bruce start to shift away before the knot could form properly, Clark reached out to grab his hand and said, "Don't you _dare_."

Bruce didn't argue, perhaps recognising that if Clark didn't want to be knotted, he _wouldn't_ be. He pressed back in and held still, stroking Clark's cock with his gloved hand almost idly, as the knot at the base of his own cock swelled to keep them joined together.

_That_ was the stretch Clark had been looking for, the sensation of fullness. Sometimes he wondered if all Kryptonians had a bit of omega in them, that he liked being full like this so much, but the reasons weren't that important. He rocked his hips back against Bruce's, seating Bruce inside him as deeply as he could, eliciting another curse from the other man, who grabbed hold of his hips in a grip that should have been bruising.

"You're pushy," Bruce commented, rubbing his gloved thumb over Clark's hipbone, an odd counterpoint to the movement of his bare thumb on the other hipbone. Unlike before, when their positions had been reversed, he didn't hold particularly still, and he hadn't gone soft inside Clark. Rut was like that; you stayed hard until you'd worked it out of your system. Thankfully, that rarely took _too_ long. Bruce was rolling his hips in little circles that threatened to drive Clark crazy, each shallow thrust sending little sparks behind his eyelids.

"I know what I like," Clark corrected, giving Bruce a bright, slightly manic smile. It was difficult to care about much beyond how _truly fantastic_ he felt, about how, after all this time, he finally had Bruce in his bed. Was finally in Bruce's bed. One of the two. He was aware, dimly, that the heady combination of alpha rut and omega heat pheromones might be getting to him, but it was difficult to care when he felt this good.

He came again twice before Bruce was finished, but that wasn't unusual. An alpha in rut was single-minded about pleasure, both their own and their lover's, and it was rare for a rut bout to end without multiple orgasms on everyone's part. When Bruce came for the last time, the knot subsided and he pulled out, and Clark felt vaguely disappointed that he hadn't felt the need to bite. Not everyone did, but it might have been nice to get a good bite in, even if he wouldn't get the mark from it.

Bruce's eyes, looking down at him through the cowl, seemed less hungry now. Bruce got up, and Clark immediately followed suit, deciding that letting Bruce walk off and talk himself into self-loathing over what had happened was a _very bad idea_.

So they ended up having a shower together, Clark helping Bruce out of the suit when Bruce's hands started trembling a little from exhaustion, and towards the end, as Bruce rinsed shampoo from his hair, Clark caught the scent of omega beginning to creep back in. He pressed a light kiss to Bruce's neck, where a dark bruise had formed from Clark's bite earlier that night, and murmured against Bruce's skin, "Feeling better?"

Bruce was quiet for a long moment, and Clark felt chilled. Had he fucked everything up with a kiss and two stupid words?

Then Bruce turned to face him, and the returning pheromones swept over Clark, taking his breath away. Omega, yes, but Clark had assumed that taking care of the omega heat earlier, and the alpha rut just now, would have ended Bruce's heat. It had been a stupid assumption, now that he thought about it; he'd never known an omega's heat to be shorter than three days, and Bruce was only now coming up on the second day, if Clark's calculations were correct. Even the assistance of an alpha didn't end a heat early; it just made it more bearable.

"Do you want to stay?" Bruce asked, the words coming out in a way that Clark was sure were meant to be blunt but somehow just seemed vulnerable. Clark didn't even have to think about it; he kissed Bruce again, on the lips this time, keeping the contact gentle and easy to pull away from if Bruce felt crowded.

"I've still got at least a day," Bruce said a few minutes later, as Clark helped him dry off. "Now that I don't need to be the Bat, it'll go back to normal." He snorted. "Omega normal."

"You're sure you want me to stay?" Clark asked. "Don't get me wrong, I want to. God, you've got no idea how much I want to. But I know how much your privacy means to you."

Bruce smiled, an oddly rueful-looking expression, and said, "If you'd just helped me through the heat earlier, maybe not. I've had plenty of alphas want to help me through heats. But you wanted to stay for the rut as well. You don't just want me because I'm an omega."

Clark frowned. "Of course not. I want you because you're _you_."

"Most people want the omega." Bruce looked oddly vulnerable right then. "A few people have found out about the - what did you call it? Dual-dynamic? Well, a few people have found out about it, in the past, and it didn't end so well. Most people who want to fuck omegas aren't so open to being fucked by an alpha if they're not getting the status of being with an alpha socially."

Clark closed the distance between them and kissed Bruce, saying fiercely, "I don't give a damn about status, and I don't give a damn about conventional dynamics or conventional ways of having sex. Tonight was one of the best nights of my life, sex-wise, so if you're suggesting it can happen again, I'm _not_ going to get put off by the idea of getting fucked sometimes." He grinned then. "You might have noticed I kind of enjoy it."

Now, Bruce laughed. It was a nice sound, Clark decided. "I did notice that. We can explore that some more."

Another wash of pheromones took Clark's breath away, and Bruce seemed entirely too aware of it, by the amusement on his face. He gave Clark a light kiss and said, " _After_ my heat. I think we're going to be a bit too busy the next few days to explore too much else."

 

 

There were worse ways, Bruce reflected several hours later, as Clark took a catnap and Bruce snatched half an hour to himself to clean up a bit, to spend his heat than with someone he trusted. He hadn't been lying earlier; if Clark had only been interested in Bruce during the heat, then their relationship would have remained business only, perfectly cordial but not _friendly_. Finding someone who could accept both sides of him - who _valued_ both sides, it seemed - had seemed like a pipe dream for so long.

He let out a soft snort as he tossed another washcloth into the laundry hamper. Should he get a rumour to the paparazzi that his mysterious lover was actually Superman? They'd have a field day with the rumours about Bruce Wayne, Gotham Socialite, caught between the superhero and the vigilante, and _nobody_ would be stupid enough anger the Bat _and_ the Man of Steel.

He'd talk it over with Clark. If nothing else, it'd be _amusing_.


End file.
